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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24964858">someone to stay</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdsandivory/pseuds/birdsandivory'>birdsandivory</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, Short &amp; Sweet, Tea Parties, also known as the insecurities of lorenz hellman gloucester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:48:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,157</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24964858</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdsandivory/pseuds/birdsandivory</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Slowly, achingly gentle, Dedue had pulled the knots from Lorenz’s tangled life.</p><p>Even here, even now, he tugs at the strings—so much so that Lorenz has been able to live without his missing pieces all this time.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Dedue Molinaro</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>someone to stay</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>sometimes you just have to project onto your faves so you can learn how to love yourself a little more.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>The tea in Lorenz’s cup doesn’t quite taste the same. </p><p>It's dark and mysterious in color, perfectly complementing a beautifully textured pot—its aroma contrasts with floral overtones. But it is thick; bitter on his tongue despite being his favored bergamot brew. It somehow stains the view, sours the atmosphere, leaves him at a startling, unpleasant loss for words. He sits in a garden of remarkable blooms, the evening sun shining between cloudy ripples in the sky, his company—just right. And yet, this simplicity makes him feel sick, as if it is an ominous prelude; this cup, this tea—</p><p>The very hands that hold it.</p><p>His fingers surround hand-painted porcelain, bereft of gloves, tips black as night and silver scars dancing across his knuckles—small comets making their way through the sky, Ferdinand once said. Lorenz doesn’t see that same picture, however; the way they bend and flit over the ceramic lip is nothing short of horrific. A permanent reminder that he would never be the same, of a ‘back then’ he wishes he could, but can never erase.</p><p>Proof he is a traitor, a hero; small casualties of war, badges of honor—for a liar, for a victor, for:</p><p>A noble man.</p><p>...Lorenz does not regret his choice to betray the Alliance. </p><p>He does not regret his choice to oppose his father. </p><p>But he’s lost much in this war, things he’s unsure he’ll ever get back—the smallest <em> pieces </em>of himself. </p><p>And now...</p><p>Lorenz can feel that he’s being watched, his just-right company patient with every moment that passes, face solemn in the spaces between his lashes. There is no movement other than the tentative adjustment of an ever-present scarf, no words but those whispered by the wind. And in the dense fog of his mind, all thanks to scarred lips that smile softly, tender thoughts somehow make their way through, warm and gratuitous enough to bathe in—so bright that the sun is a lesser light. </p><p>Dedue is a peace he cannot fathom living without, Lorenz thinks.</p><p>Though it’s been years since war, every fortnight—without fail—he and Dedue spend time together just like this. </p><p>They share tea as they did at the monastery nearly a decade ago, back when those of the Blue Lion house were wary of Lorenz, unsure of his loyalty. When they looked at him as they did Ferdinand months later upon his joining—like an outsider, or maybe a fool. It was always difficult to tell. </p><p>Even still, Dedue had acted as his knight in shining armor.</p><p>Despite having traded blows at Myrddin—despite having once been the enemy—Lorenz had been accepted most readily by Dedue. And more than once, when arguments ensued and Lorenz had begun wondering if there was even a point in trying to be a part of a group so distrusting that every step was another eggshell, he was saved by an endlessly kind voice of reason. </p><p>Dedue was the only one who had come to understand him. Though, perhaps he shouldn’t have tried to in the first place. Lorenz had never been so just to him, had once told him horrible things, swearing they were nothing alike—hissed in his face like a child who believed the world was unfair. If he were honest, Dedue might’ve been better off trying to gain acceptance himself.</p><p>But he had never wavered. </p><p>Slowly, achingly gentle, Dedue had pulled the knots from Lorenz’s tangled life.</p><p>Even here, even now, he tugs at the strings—so much so that Lorenz has been able to live without his missing pieces all this time.</p><p>More tea is graciously poured into his cup, though it is his turn to host; he sighs.</p><p>Dedue doesn’t ask for a conversation and Lorenz doesn’t give him one despite having requested his time tonight. He’s too busy pitying himself in ways he never thought he was capable of, too preoccupied with searching his mind for those remnants of Lorenz Hellman Gloucester he left behind on the battlefield, too consumed with who he was and who he is—though that, perhaps, is more like himself than he wants to admit. </p><p>A gentle gaze fixes on him, questioning and curious. And finally, after such a long, lonely silence, Lorenz finds himself smiling his answer. </p><p>It doesn’t reach his eyes.</p><p>He pulls one of his hands from his cup, his fingers a touch of midnight beneath the orange sun—singed, scarred, ugly. Lorenz doesn’t know why he looks to himself for flaws, but after foregoing his gilded gold lineage for the biting frost of royal blue, it is the only thing he understands; the only constant in this world.</p><p>“Who would look at these hands,” he begins quietly, unable to recognize his own pained voice, “take them in theirs...”—his fingers curl beneath the sunset’s warm rays—“...think that they’re beautiful?”</p><p>Silence follows.</p><p>Lorenz looks nowhere but his fingertips, thrumming with uncast magic and unbearably empty. He feels foolish all of a sudden—the quiet no longer comfortable, the air somehow more suffocating—and pulls his hands to his chest, away from the sun, away from the tea that’s too bitter to drink. </p><p>Away from Dedue.</p><p>“Lorenz.”</p><p>Another hand is outstretched toward him in their place.</p><p>Moments pass before he realizes that Dedue’s removed one of his gloves, his calloused palm revealing more scars than can be counted as it hangs between them—an offering that frightens Lorenz more than he can possibly admit. </p><p>And still, in the face of such fears, Dedue remains a calm and comforting presence. </p><p>Even if the hand that belongs to him happens to be the reason that Lorenz is afraid. </p><p>And still, Lorenz reaches for that hand, lets his fall into Dedue’s warm palm—lets a soothing cage of rough fingers wrap around him. </p><p>He’s unable to tear his eyes away from them—their gentle, careful touch—until Dedue pulls his hand closer, and Lorenz’s gaze inevitably flickers up into the solace of seafoam waves. The moment their eyes meet, Dedue smiles something small and affectionate, choosing then to look down at their kissing palms. </p><p>“These hands,” he says softly, with overwhelming fondness, his thumb brushing along once-smooth knuckles. Lorenz’s lashes flutter at the sensation—the memory of what it was like to be able to<em> feel </em> setting his chest aflame—his heart, the frantic beat of a butterfly’s wings. </p><p>Dedue cradles him, all of him, with this simple gesture. </p><p>And now, too afraid to let go, he curls his hand around Dedue’s as though he’ll disappear. </p><p>As though he isn’t meant to be here—not with<em> traitor, </em> hero, <em> liar, </em>victor. </p><p>As though he’ll become another missing piece Lorenz is so desperately trying to find. </p><p>Those kind eyes look to him again, and he realizes as his silvery comets meet plush lips that nothing inside of him breaks.</p><p>“These hands are beautiful.”</p><p>Dedue is a peace he cannot fathom living without.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>“I thought how unpleasant it is to be locked out; and I thought how it is worse, perhaps, to be locked in.” —Virginia Woolf</p><p> </p><p>
  <a href="https://twitter.com/birdsandivory">twitter.</a>
</p></blockquote></div></div>
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